The Prophet of Merlin
by DarkSide0107
Summary: Harry discovers an unusual book in a the Room of Requirement, and the consequences could only happen to Harry Potter. But maybe not all is bad... HHr, Rated T for now, might change later.


**Hello, everyone. This is my attempt at a Harry Potter fanfiction, hope you'll like it. **

**There are a few things that I want to clarify before I head on into the story. **

**-There will be several grammatical and spelling mistakes in this fic, but I'll do my best to re-read them and correct all of them. **

**-This story takes place Harry's Fourth Year, the Goblet of Fire.**

**-The Harry's sense of humor is mostly going to be his usual dry, snarky and sarcastic sense of humor, it's just been amplified to the nth degree. This is so that there is enough Harry to be... Harry, but also different enough to feel... different and fresh. He's not broody, but he can also be broody.  
**

**Let's go.**

**Disclaimer: I don't really know why you would think that I own Harry Potter, the character or Harry Potter, the franchise.  
**

* * *

Harry rubbed his temples, already feeling a headache. Of course, of course the Goblet would spit his name out, what else did he expect? A calm peaceful year preferably without soul-sucking creatures and Voldemort, was too much to ask, but as has been proven countless times before, fate really hates him.

"'Ee's just a leetle boy!" Harry's eye twitched at the French witch's words, finding her tone and behaviour very much like Dudley's for his liking.

A rough tapping of wood against the floor made all of their eyes turn, as did Harry. Catching the sight of Alastor Moody and his thoughtful expression, just made Harry sigh. If anything he simply expected the man to stun everyone in the room and yell 'Constant Vigilance'.

"If anyone's got a reason to complain, it's Harry Potter himself. Funny thing is... I don't hear him saying a word. No complaints." Moody said stressing 'Harry Potter' way too much for Harry's simply tastes.

"A lot of good that would do to me. Only Professor Dumbledore seemed to actually care to ask me." Whether the old man wanted to scream at Harry or simply give him some sort of pitying look... ? No it was the classic disappointed look.

"What reason 'e 'as to complain? Ee 'as a chance to participate 'asen't he? We've all been chosen to represent our schools as we 'ave been 'oping for weeks! For the honour of our schools! A thousand galleons as ze prize money! Of course, 'e doesn't 'ave to complain!" Moody was about to say something, but Potter beat him to it.

"Are you done?" The blonde witch looked at the boy, only for him to look completely unimpressed by her complaint.

"What?" She asked in a threatening tone.

"I asked you if you were done. Because if you are, someone else will get the chance to whine and bitch like you just did." Harry said in a completely flat tone, that he reserved mostly for Draco and Dudley, designed carefully to make them look foolish in front of an audience.

"Excusez moi?! Do you English people lack politeness as well?!" She said with disgust looking down at him.

Harry cursed the Dursley's not for the first time, for his shorter stature. He wasn't terribly short, nor was he considered something... threatening. He was probably a two or three inches shorter than the French witch, but he wasn't going to let it stop him.

"So, basically what you're saying is that I should lay down and take every word you said, and in the end be polite and thank you for it? Yeah, no." Harry replied in a forced polite tone. People like her were his least favorite, they expect everyone to bend to their will.

The witch narrowed her ice-blue eyes at him and fumed quietly, not knowing how to respond to that.

"Maybe someone's hoping Potter is going to die for it," said Moody, with the merest trace of a growl. Harry glanced at him with wide eyes, he had, of course, not expected that. Could it actually be true?

It wouldn't exactly be the first time, someone has tried to kill him, he's had that happened to him all of his life, right from the time he was a toddler, upto last year his life has been in constant danger. All of the previous Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, someone who _should _be teaching him to protect, instead tried to kill. His stomach clenched at the thought of entering the no-doubt insane challenges that were designed for Seventh Years or someone who is actually seventeen, not for Fourth Years, like him! He grudgingly had to admire the brains as to whoever put him in this tournament. No doubt he would be killed pretty quickly, probably right at the beginning by some stupid rock hitting him in the forehead. If he, as unlikely as it might be, survives, then Malfoy would undoubtedly have more ammunition to call him 'Scarhead'.

He clenched his eyes shut and rubbed his temples again, this was just too much.

"Maybe someone you know, Potter?" Moody asked, looking at Harry.

Harry opened his eyes, and tried his damned best not to glare at the ex-Auror, and it worked, if only slightly. If he had an idea as to who put him here, then he would give them wouldn't he? What was the point of asking?

"No. Not that I know of, anyway." Harry answered. The vision/ dream of Voldemort alongside Pettigrew killing the old man sprang up to mind but he didn't exactly think that Dumbledore would allow some follower of Voldemort _again _into the school. Not after Quirrell.

An extremely tense silence followed these words. Ludo Bagman, who was looking very anxious indeed, bounced nervously up and down on his feet and said, "Moody, old man... what a thing to say!"

"We all know Professor Moody considers the morning wasted if he hasn't discovered six plots to murder him before lunchtime," said Karkaroff loudly. "Apparently he is now teaching his students to fear assassination too. An odd quality in a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dumbledore, but no doubt you had your reasons."

"Imagining things, am I?" growled Moody. "Seeing things, eh? It was a skilled witch or wizard who put the boy's name in that goblet. . ."

"Ah, what evidence is zere of zat?" said Madame Maxime, throwing up her huge hands.

"Because they hoodwinked a very powerful magical object!" said Moody. "It would have needed an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm to bamboozle that goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the tournament... I'm guessing they submitted Potter's name under a fourth school, to make sure he was the only one in his category... "

"You seem to have given this a great deal of thought, Moody," said Karkaroff coldly, "and a very ingenious theory it is - though of course, I heard you recently got it into your head that one of your birthday presents contained a cunningly disguised basilisk egg, and smashed it to pieces before realizing it was a carriage clock. So you'll understand if we don't take you entirely seriously..."

"There are those who'll turn innocent occasions to their advantage," Moody retorted in a menacing voice. "It's my job to think the way Dark wizards do, Karkaroff - as you ought to remember..."

"Alastor!" said Dumbledore warningly, and all of the room hushed, looking at Dumbledore, and Harry had to admire the man's ability to control a crowd of such powerful wizards. "How this situation arose, we do not know," said Dumbledore, speaking to everyone gathered in the room. "It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do. . ."

"Ah, but Dumbly-dorr -"

"My dear Madame Maxime, if you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it." Dumbledore waited, but Madame Maxime did not speak, she merely glared at Harry, who ignored her. She wasn't the only one either. Snape looked furious; Karkaroff livid; Bagman, however, looked rather excited.

"Well, shall we crack on, then?" he said, rubbing his hands together and smiling around the room. "Got to give our champions their instructions, haven't we? Barty, want to do the honors?"

Mr. Crouch seemed to come out of a deep reverie. "Yes," he said, "instructions. Yes ... the first task..." He moved forward into the firelight. Close up, Harry thought he looked ill. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and a thin, papery look about his wrinkled skin that had not been there at the Quidditch World Cup. "The first task is designed to test your daring," he told Harry, Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor, "so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard ... very important... "

"The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges. "The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests." Mr. Crouch turned to look at Dumbledore. "I think that's all, is it, Albus?"

"I think so," said Dumbledore, who was looking at Mr. Crouch with mild concern. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay at Hogwarts tonight, Barty?"

"No, Dumbledore, I must get back to the Ministry," said Mr. Crouch. "It is a very busy, very difficult time at the moment... I've left young Weatherby in charge... Very enthusiastic... a little overenthusiastic, if truth be told... "

"You'll come and have a drink before you go, at least?" said Dumbledore.

"Come on, Barty, I'm staying!" said Bagman brightly. "It's all happening at Hogwarts now, you know, much more exciting here than at the office!"

"I think not, Ludo," said Crouch with a touch of his old impatience. "Professor Karkaroff — Madame Maxime — a nightcap?" said Dumbledore. But Madame Maxime had already put her arm around the blonde's shoulders and was leading her swiftly out of the room. Harry could hear them both talking very fast in French as they went off into the Great Hall. Karkaroff beckoned to Krum, and they, too exited, though in silence, with Fleur, as he remembered the blonde's name to be, turning to look back at him. She gave him a calculating gaze before she scoffed and turned forward and continued to walk.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh, not really knowing what to do. I was pretty clear that he actually had to compete against Seventh Years that were way more educated than he was, and maybe, he ever will be if this tournament managed to do what it was known for.

Harry turned to ask a deaf question to Dumbledore, but he seemed to already know what the question was going to be, and shook his head. Harry rubbed his left arm, suddenly finding it a bit numb.

Dumbledore put on a smile, hough in silence. "Harry, Cedric, I suggest you go up to bed," said Dumbledore. "I am sure Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are waiting to celebrate with you, and it would be a shame to deprive them of this excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise." Harry swallowed at the thought of actually heading out in front of the crowd that had, just now, called him a cheat and a fraud. His sarcastic mask slipped completely and all of his fears showed in his eyes, so he closed them, not wanting anyone to see him like that.

Harry glanced at Cedric, who nodded, and they left together. The Great Hall was deserted now; the candles had burned low, giving the jagged smiles of the pumpkins an eerie, flickering quality. "So," said Cedric, with a slight smile. "We're playing against each other again!" Harry recovered quickly from the exclamation, a far cry from the dead silence that he hoped would be.

"Hope there's less soul-suckers this time." said Harry. He couldn't really think straight. The inside of his head seemed to be in complete disarray, as though his brain had been ransacked.

"So tell me..." said Cedric as they reached the entrance hall, which was now lit only by torches in the absence of the Goblet of Fire. "How did you get your name in?" Harry looked up at him in complete surprise, not expecting Cedric to ask something like that. He thought at least Cedric, his fellow Hogwarts student would think that he wasn't lying. It took him a few moments to reply.

"...You don't believe me, huh?" Harry said quietly, taking Cedric by surprise.

"Harry-"

"It's fine." Harry interrupted, feeling done with this conversation already, "Goodnight, Cedric." He patted the surprised older boy on the shoulder once and moved away towards the Gryffindor Tower wondering if there was anyone except Ron and Hermione going to believe him, or would they all think he'd put himself in for the tournament? Yet how could anyone think that, when he was facing competitors who'd had three years' more magical education than he had — when he was now facing tasks that not only sounded very dangerous, but which were to be performed in front of hundreds of people? Yes, he'd thought about it... he'd fantasized about it... but it had been a joke, really, an idle sort of dream ... he'd never really, seriously considered entering... But someone else had considered it... someone else had wanted him in the tournament, and had made sure he was entered. Why? To give him a treat? He didn't think so, somehow... To see him make a fool of himself? Well, they were likely to get their wish... But to get him killed? Was Moody just being his usual paranoid self? Couldn't someone have put Harry's name in the goblet as a trick, a practical joke? Did anyone really want him dead? Harry was able to answer that at once. Yes, someone wanted him dead, someone had wanted him dead ever since he had been a year old... Lord Voldemort. But how could Voldemort have ensured that Harry's name got into the Goblet of Fire? Voldemort was supposed to be far away, in some distant country, in hiding, alone ... feeble and powerless... Yet in that dream he had had, just before he had awoken with his scar hurting, Voldemort had not been alone ... he had been talking to Wormtail ... plotting Harry's murder...

-x-x-x-x-

"Harry?" A familiar female voice called out as soon as he was nearby the Portrait of the Fat Lady. Hermione was looking at him with an unreadable expression on her face, something that made Harry's stomach clench, but he walked towards her and stopped a few feet away from her.

"Hermione..." He said, not knowing where to begin. Did she believe him? He had been nothing but honest with her about everything that he does, but did actually believe him? Did she bring bad news or something?

"Oh Harry, why does all of this happened only to you." Hermione said, quickly closing the distance between them and giving him a hug that he knew he needed, but would never admit it out loud. Harry stilled before smiling softly into her hair and wrapping his own arms around her. He was wrong, Hermione would trust him.

"You believe me, just like that?" Harry whispered softly into her hair, as she sniffed and pulled back and focused her brown eyes into his own bright green ones, and smiled at him, easing some of the tension in his shoulders about Gryffindor's reaction.

"Harry, you are the most honest, trustworthy person I have ever met, excluding my parents," she added when she saw him open his mouth, "the look on your face said it all when your name was announced." Harry sighed in relief. That's one out of the many in his House, wonder how well the rest of it will go. He grinned at her, though it felt a bit strained.

"...Let's hope that the rest feel the same way." Hermione's smile faded immediately something that made the tension return to his shoulders.

"...That bad, huh?" Hermione sighed tiredly, which was saying something since they had hardly done anything that day.

"It's just... Angelina. Everyone believed her to be the one who was going to be picked as champion. Seeing Cedric probably stung, but see you picked as the Fourth, they think you entered willingly, and it just... angered her." Harry stayed silent for a few moments.

"And the rest?" He asked her, feeling like he didn't want to know the answer.

Hermione swallowed, "You should see for yourself, Harry." She answered. Harry frowned at that, but decided to accept it and sighed.

"...I swear, my life feels like a test I didn't study for." Hermione gave him a weak smile at his attempt at lightening the situation, but it was in vacuum with no hope of being easy to escape. He only wished for one year, one FREAKING year without nearly dying. It was apparently too much to ask.

"Are you two done?" The portrait of the Fat Lady asked flatly, looking at Harry and Hermione.

"Balderdash." Hermione gave the password to the lady who rolled her eyes and she swung forward on her hinges to let Harry and Hermione into the common room. The blast of noise that met Harry's ears when the portrait opened almost knocked him backward. Next thing he knew, he was being wrenched inside the common room by about a dozen pairs of hands, and was facing the whole of Gryffindor House, all of whom were screaming, applauding, and whistling.

"You should've told us you'd entered!" bellowed Fred; he looked half annoyed, half deeply impressed.

"How did you do it without getting a beard? Brilliant!" roared George.

"I didn't," Harry said, his headache was starting to get worse due to the noise. "I don't know how —"

"You'll be able to pay back Diggory for that last Quidditch match, Harry!" shrieked Katie Bell, one of the Gryffindor Chasers.

"We've got food, Harry, come and have some —"

"I'm not hungry, I had enough at the feast —" But nobody wanted to hear that he wasn't hungry; nobody wanted to hear that he hadn't put his name in the goblet; not one single person seemed to have noticed that he wasn't at all in the mood to celebrate. . . . Lee Jordan had unearthed a Gryffindor banner from somewhere, and he insisted on draping it around Harry like a cloak. Harry couldn't get away; whenever he tried to sidle over to the staircase up to the dormitories, the crowd around him closed ranks, forcing another butterbeer on him, stuffing crisps and peanuts into his hands. . . . Everyone wanted to know how he had done it, how he had tricked Dumbledore's Age Line and managed to get his name into the goblet. . . .

"I didn't," he said, over and over again, "I don't know how it happened." But for all the notice anyone took, he might just as well not have answered at all. Harry closed his eyes, feeling his temper, flaring. He was usually more calculated than this but his own house not believing him and not even bothering to hear him out was too much.

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP NOW!" He roared over with a _Sonorus_ charm to amplify his voice, make it bellow over all of the other noise. "Thank you."

He took a deep breath, "I did not put my name into the Goblet of Fire." He explained as calmly as he could, "I really didn't. I have no desire to be in this Tournament that is known for causing _the deaths of hundreds _of students. I really don't have a death wish."

"Then how did your name come out?" Angeline spat out at him. Harry flinched at the amount of contempt from his normally friendly Quidditch captain. "You obviously entered your name into the Goblet. It doesn't spit out names randomly."

Harry narrowed his eyes at her, "I'd agree with you, but then we'd both be wrong. I'm tired and I'm going to bed." He said, ignoring all of the noise that had begun to follow him now. He gave Hermione's hand a quick squeeze as he passed by, whispering 'good night', though he highly doubted it was going to be good.

_My life sucks..._

Harry managed to shake everyone off and climb up to the dormitory as fast as he could. To his great relief, he found Ron was lying on his bed in the otherwise empty dormitory, still fully dressed. He looked up when Harry slammed the door behind him.

"Where've you been?" Harry said.

"Oh hello," said Ron. He was grinning, but it was a very odd, strained sort of grin. Harry suddenly became aware that he was still wearing the scarlet Gryffindor banner that Lee had tied around him. He hastened to take it off, but it was knotted very tightly. Ron lay on the bed without moving, watching Harry struggle to remove it.

"So," he said, when Harry had finally removed the banner and thrown it into a corner. "Congratulations."

"What d'you mean, congratulations?" said Harry, staring at Ron. There was definitely something wrong with the way Ron was smiling: It was more like a grimace.

"Well . . . no one else got across the Age Line," said Ron. "Not even Fred and George. What did you use — the Invisibility Cloak?"

"The Invisibility Cloak wouldn't have got me over that line," said Harry slowly, _At least I don't think so anyway.._.

"Oh right," said Ron. "I thought you might've told me if it was the cloak . . . because it would've covered both of us, wouldn't it? But you found another way, did you?"

"Listen," said Harry, "I didn't put my name in that goblet. Someone else must've done it." Ron raised his eyebrows.

"What would they do that for?" Harry stared at Ron.

"To play 'who kills Harry first'." He replied. Ron's eyebrows rose so high that they were in danger of disappearing into his hair.

"It's okay, you know, you can tell me the truth," he said. "If you don't want everyone else to know, fine, but I don't know why you're bothering to lie, you didn't get into trouble for it, did you? That friend of the Fat Lady's, that Violet, she's already told us all Dumbledore's letting you enter. A thousand Galleons prize money, eh? And you don't have to do end-of-year tests either. . . ."

"I didn't put my name in that goblet!" said Harry, starting to feel angry. "Yeah, okay," said Ron, in exactly the same sceptical tone as Cedric, "I can figure it out, you know. I'm not stupid." Ron said in a flat tone.

"No? You're doing a good job at _not _showing it!" Harry snapped. Ron gave a humorless laugh, something that made Harry grit his teeth.

"Oh great, the sarcasm comes out in full show." Ron snarked.

"I did not put my name into the Goblet of Fire, if you don't believe me then you're just showing how _smart _you are, Ronald." Harry replied with the same sarcasm laced in his voice.

"Yeah?" said Ron, and there was no trace of a grin, forced or otherwise, on his face now. "You want to get to bed, Harry. I expect you'll need to be up early tomorrow for a photo-call or something." He wrenched the hangings shut around his four-poster, leaving Harry standing there by the door, staring at the dark red velvet curtains, now hiding one of the few people he had been sure would believe him.

-x-x-x-

Harry woke up on Sunday morning, it took him a moment to remember why he felt so miserable and worried. Then the memory of the previous night rolled over him. He sat up and ripped back the curtains of his own four-poster, intending to talk to Ron, to force Ron to believe him — only to find that Ron's bed was empty; he had obviously gone down to breakfast. Harry dressed and went down the spiral staircase into the common room. The moment he appeared, the people who had already finished breakfast broke into applause again. The prospect of going down into the Great Hall and facing the rest of the Gryffindors, all treating him like some sort of hero, was not inviting; it was that, however, or stay here and allow himself to be cornered by the Creevey brothers, who were both beckoning frantically to him to join them. He walked resolutely over to the portrait hole, pushed it open, climbed out of it, and found himself face-to-face with Hermione.

"Hello," she said, holding up a stack of toast, which she was carrying in a napkin. "I brought you this. . . . Want to go for a walk?"

"Good idea," said Harry gratefully. They went downstairs, crossed the entrance hall quickly without looking in at the Great Hall, and were soon striding across the lawn toward the lake, where the Durmstrang ship was moored, reflected blackly in the water. It was a chilly morning, and they kept moving, munching their toast. Eventually they found their seat nearby a large rock that Harry usually goes to think.

"Ron doesn't believe me." Harry said after swallowing the bite of toast. Hermione glanced at him and shifted closer to him.

"Well, he's an idiot." Harry snorted in agreement.

"I thought maybe he'd believe, considering that I never hide anything from him." _Anything that doesn't involve my life away from here anyway..._

Hermione hummed in response, it seems like she didn't really care for Ron all that much, which worried him a little bit, but he had to ask, "Why do I get the feeling that you already knew this was going to happened?" Hermione looked at him in surprise.

"Which bit?"

"Ron." She sighed, as thought it pained her to say what she was going to say.

"Harry, I'll be straight with you, I never liked Ron. Not even as a friend." Harry's brain took a few moments to process this information.

"Huh." Was all he could say.

"The only reason I stuck around was because of you. You are the only friend that I have that I truly feel like I can count on. You didn't notice but when the Basilisk was on the loose and everything thought that it was you, Ron was actually having second thoughts." Harry sighed at that. He knew that, he saw him looking away and maintaining distance from him, something that he hadn't done before.

"...Well, if he wants to be jealous and stupid, tell him he can save his own energy." Harry said sagging against his seat.

"You tell him yourself." Hermione replied shortly.

"I'm not running around after him trying to make him grow up." Harry said "Maybe he'll believe I'm not enjoying myself once I've got my neck broken or —"

"That's not funny," said Hermione quietly. "That's not funny at all." She looked extremely anxious. "Harry, I've been thinking — you know what we've got to do, don't you? Straight away, the moment we get back to the castle?"

"Try to come up with ideas that make sure that I have at least a five percent chance of not dying?" Harry said dryly, making Hermione blink.

"That's not actually a bad idea, but that's not what I meant. I mean that you should write to Sirius. You've got to tell him what's happened. He asked you to keep him posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts. . . . It's almost as if he expected something like this to happen. I brought some parchment and a quill out with me —"

"Come off it," said Harry, looking around to check that they couldn't be overheard, but the grounds were quite deserted. "He came back to the country just because my scar twinged. He'll probably come bursting right into the castle if I tell him someone's entered me in the Triwizard Tournament —"

"He'd want you to tell him," said Hermione sternly. "He's going to find out anyway —"

"How?"

"Harry, this isn't going to be kept quiet," said Hermione, very seriously. "This tournament's famous, and you're famous. I'll be really surprised if there isn't anything in the Daily Prophet about you competing. . . . You're already in half the books about You-Know-Who, you know . . . and Sirius would rather hear it from you, I know he would."

Harry stared at her face for a few long moments, before he slumped against the rock. He really wished for Sirius to be kept out of this situation.

"If I had a knut for every dumb thing you say, I'd be homeless." That one actually got a slight giggle out of the brown-haired girl before she playfully shoved his shoulder.

"Let's go then." She said and they threw their last toast into the river. They both stood and watched it floating there for a moment, before a large tentacle rose out of the water and scooped it beneath the surface. Harry tilted his head.

"If they make me fight that thing... I swear..." Harry muttered under his breath. They went up to the Owlery Hermione gave Harry a piece of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink, then strolled around the long lines of perches, looking at all the different owls, while Harry sat down against a wall and wrote his letter. Sirius had told Harry not to use Hedwig too often, at least not to write to him, and he wasn't going to ask anything of Ron, so he decided to use one of the school owls.

"Finished," he told Hermione, getting to his feet and brushing straw off his robes. At this, Hedwig came fluttering down onto his shoulder and held out her leg.

"I can't use you," Harry told her, looking around for the school owls. "I've got to use one of these. . . ." Hedwig gave a very loud hoot and took off so suddenly that her talons cut into his shoulder. She kept her back to Harry all the time he was tying his letter to the leg of a large barn owl. Harry smiled amusedly at Hedwig, it almost looked like she was pouting.

"Relax, Hedwig, you're way more beautiful than any owl, any time of the day." He told her honestly. She looked behind her and gave him a indignant hoot. Harry nodded apologetically, while Hermione looked at him as if he had two heads.

"Yeah, I know. But you're so beautiful that people will recognize you instantly. It's not a problem for you, but Sirius can end up in some... well, serious troubles." Hedwig hooted in understanding and rubbed her face against his before flying off.

"I don't speak Owlish, just for the record." Harry commented dryly, noticing Hermione's strange look. She snorted.

If Harry had thought that matters would improve once everyone got used to the idea of him being champion, the following day showed him how mistaken he was. He could no longer avoid the rest of the school once he was back at lessons — and it was clear that the rest of the school, just like the Gryffindors, thought Harry had entered himself for the tournament. Unlike the Gryffindors, however, they did not seem impressed. The Hufflepuffs, who were usually on excellent terms with the Gryffindors, had turned remarkably cold toward the whole lot of them. One Herbology lesson was enough to demonstrate this. It was plain that the Hufflepuffs felt that Harry had stolen their champion's glory; a feeling exacerbated, perhaps, by the fact that Hufflepuff House very rarely got any glory, and that Cedric was one of the few who had ever given them any, having beaten Gryffindor once at Quidditch. Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch Fletchley, with whom Harry normally got on very well, did not talk to him even though they were repotting Bouncing Bulbs at the same tray — though they did laugh rather unpleasantly when one of the Bouncing Bulbs wriggled free from Harry's grip and smacked him hard in the face.

"Well, Mr. Potter, you seem to be having some trouble there." Professor Sprout said in a slightly distant and cold tone, and Harry blinked as the rest laughed. His face flushed slightly in embarrassment, and anger flashed in his eyes when he saw Ron snickering.

"...I'm good, Professor." He replied in a tightly controlled tone.

He would have been looking forward to seeing Hagrid under normal circumstances, but Care of Magical Creatures meant seeing the Slytherins too — the first time he would come face-to-face with them since becoming champion. Predictably, Malfoy arrived at Hagrid's cabin with his familiar sneer firmly in place. "Ah, look, boys, it's the champion," he said to Crabbe and Goyle the moment he got within earshot of Harry. "Got your autograph books? Better get a signature now, because I doubt he's going to be around much longer. . . . Half the Triwizard champions have died . . . how long d'you reckon you're going to last, Potter? Ten minutes into the first task's my bet."

Crabbe and Goyle guffawed sycophantically, Harry did not look impressed at all, but Malfoy had to stop there, because Hagrid emerged from the back of his cabin balancing a teetering tower of crates, each containing a very large Blast-Ended Skrewt. To the class's horror, Hagrid proceeded to explain that the reason the skrewts had been killing one another was an excess of pent-up energy, and that the solution would be for each student to fix a leash on a skrewt and take it for a short walk. The only good thing about this plan was that it distracted Malfoy completely.

"Take this thing for a walk?" he repeated in disgust, staring into one of the boxes. "And where exactly are we supposed to fix the leash? Around the sting, the blasting end, or the sucker?"

"Roun' the middle," said Hagrid, demonstrating. "Er — yeh might want ter put on yer dragon-hide gloves, jus' as an extra precaution, like. Harry — you come here an' help me with this big one. . . ." Hagrid's real intention, however, was to talk to Harry away from the rest of the class.

He waited until everyone else had set off with their skrewts, then turned to Harry and said, very seriously, "So — yer competin', Harry. In the tournament. School champion."

"One of the champions," Harry corrected him. Hagrid's beetle-black eyes looked very anxious under his wild eyebrows.

"No idea who put yeh in fer it, Harry?" "You believe I didn't do it, then?" said Harry, concealing with difficulty the rush of gratitude he felt at Hagrid's words.

"'Course I do," Hagrid grunted. "Yeh say it wasn' you, an' I believe yeh — an' Dumbledore believes yer, an' all."

"Wish I knew who did do it," said Harry bitterly. The pair of them looked out over the lawn; the class was widely scattered now, and all in great difficulty. The skrewts were now over three feet long, and extremely powerful. No longer shell-less and colorless, they had developed a kind of thick, grayish, shiny armor. They looked like a cross between giant scorpions and elongated crabs — but still without recognizable heads or eyes. They had become immensely strong and very hard to control.

"Look like they're havin' fun, don' they?" Hagrid said happily. Harry assumed he was talking about the skrewts, because his classmates certainly weren't; every now and then, with an alarming bang, one of the skrewts' ends would explode, causing it to shoot forward several yards, and more than one person was being dragged along on their stomach, trying desperately to get back on their feet. "Ah, I don' know, Harry," Hagrid sighed suddenly, looking back down at him with a worried expression on his face. "School champion . . . everythin' seems ter happen ter you, doesn' it?" Harry didn't answer. Yes, everything did seem to happen to him . . . that was more or less what Hermione had said as they had walked around the lake, and that was the reason, according to her, that Ron was no longer talking to him. The next few days were some of Harry's worst at Hogwarts. The closest he had ever come to feeling like this had been during those months, in his second year, when a large part of the school had suspected him of attacking his fellow students.

Double Potions was always a horrible experience, but these days it was nothing short of torture. Being shut in a dungeon for an hour and a half with Snape and the Slytherins, all of whom seemed determined to punish Harry as much as possible for daring to become school champion, was about the most unpleasant thing Harry could imagine. He had already struggled through one Friday's worth, with Hermione sitting next to him intoning "ignore them, ignore them, ignore them" under her breath, and he couldn't see why today should be any better.

When he and Hermione arrived at Snape's dungeon after lunch, they found the Slytherins waiting outside, each and every one of them wearing a large badge on the front of his or her robes. For one wild moment Harry thought they were S.P.E.W. badges — then he saw that they all bore the same message, in luminous red letters that burnt brightly in the dimly lit underground passage:

Support Cedric Diggory, the Real Hogwarts Champion!

"Like them, Potter?" said Malfoy loudly as Harry approached. "And this isn't all they do — look!"

Potter Stinks!

The Slytherins howled with laughter. Each of them pressed their badges too, until the message POTTER STINKS was shining brightly all around Harry. He felt the heat rise in his face and neck.

"Think you're funny aren't you, Malfoy? Think you can insult me all you want and get away with it? I've never seen a more pathetic excuse for a human being, and that's saying something. Let me tell you something, I'll actually start to care more about your stupid goddamn badges when you actually come up with better insults that _actually _insult. I stink, huh? Well, compared to the filth you strut around with, I say I smell like perfume." Harry said actually getting nose to nose with Malfoy who took several steps back in fear. Harry scoffed at the pathetic ferret and turned around and walked away.

"Think you're all b-brave Potter?! Well, Moody isn't h-here to help you out!" He pulled out his wand, but before he could say anything, he found Harry's wand pointed at his group. People all around them scrambled out of the way, backing down the corridor.

"Go on, then, Potter," Malfoy said quietly, but Harry could sense the fear in his voice and eyes. "Moody's not here to look after you now — do it, if you've got the guts —"

For a split second, they looked into each other's eyes, then, at exactly the same time, both acted.

"_Furnunculus!"_ Harry yelled.

"_Densaugeo!_" screamed Malfoy. Jets of light shot from both wands, hit each other in midair, and ricocheted off at angles — Harry's hit Goyle in the face, and Malfoy's hit Hermione. Goyle bellowed and put his hands to his nose, where great ugly boils were springing up — Hermione, whimpering in panic, was clutching her mouth.

"Hermione!" Ron had hurried forward to see what was wrong with her; Harry turned and saw Ron dragging Hermione's hand away from her face. It wasn't a pretty sight. Hermione's front teeth — already larger than average — were now growing at an alarming rate; she was looking more and more like a beaver as her teeth elongated, past her bottom lip, toward her chin — panic-stricken, she felt them and let out a terrified cry.

"And what is all this noise about?" said a soft, deadly voice. Snape had arrived. The Slytherins clamored to give their explanations; Snape pointed a long yellow finger at Malfoy and said, "Explain."

"Potter attacked me, sir —"

"We attacked each other at the same time!" Harry shouted. "— and he hit Goyle — look —" Snape examined Goyle, whose face now resembled something that would have been at home in a book on poisonous fungi.

"Hospital wing, Goyle," Snape said calmly.

"Malfoy got Hermione!" Ron said. "Look!" He forced Hermione to show Snape her teeth — she was doing her best to hide them with her hands, though this was difficult as they had now grown down past her collar. Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls were doubled up with silent giggles, pointing at Hermione from behind Snape's back.

"I see no difference." Snape said coldly, and Hermione let out a choked sob. Harry actually scoffed at Ron.

"Really Ron, you expected _Professor _Snape to actually help us?" Harry's mouth filter had gone completely to a mess and his words were coming out before he could stop them. They were likely to cause serious problems for him, but he wasn't about to stop.

"What was that, Mr. Potter?" Snape growled at Harry, who looked indifferent to his anger and blew some hair out of his eyes.

"Nothing sir, just saying how much of a _responsible _Professor you are." He said in a obviously sarcastic tone, while Ron, Seamus, Dean and every other person around him looked at him as he belonged in a mental asylum. Snape's nostrils flared.

"Fifty Points from Gryffindor and detention with me till the end of the year, we'll see how much of that cheek is left after I'm done with you!" Snape snarled at him. Harry smirked, remembering what being a champion entails.

"I'm sorry Professor, but I no longer have any obligation to attend neither your classes nor your detentions, after all I'm the 'champion'. I have to prepare not to die, after all." Harry said in a sickly sweet tone that had to Potions Master turning red. Harry then completely ignored him and turned to Hermione.

"Let's go to Madam Pomfrey, Hermione." Harry said softly. She nodded tears in her brown eyes.

Harry's ears were ringing. The injustice of it made him want to curse Snape into a thousand slimy pieces. Malfoy's face was equally as red as Snape's and he grabbed Hermione by her shoulders and made his way past Snape and Malfoy, both looking like they wanted to kill him. He smirked again.

"Sir."

But that was much worse as Snape was now shaking with anger, somehow Harry felt much better now.

-x-x-x-x-

**The next chapter will be soon, please review.**


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